


Date Night

by AlexanderTheMostlyOkay



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Both of them because that is the life I lead, Fingering, Just cute vanilla sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexanderTheMostlyOkay/pseuds/AlexanderTheMostlyOkay
Summary: Just two bros having fun. Two fun-loving bros.





	Date Night

You had finished up most of your work an hour or so ago, so you were forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and not stick your head in the fridge every five minutes. Although, you had already seen this episode of Forged for Celebrity Facelifts, Junior; Master and Apprentice Edition, so it was getting increasingly more difficult to not boredom eat. The left-over easy mac in the fridge is practically begging to be heated up. But, you promised Damien a nice dinner, you even made reservations, so you have set yourself to spending too much on some fancy h'orderves.

Early that evening he had slipped a note through your letter slot, wax seal over college-rule paper, explaining that there was, “An explosion of puppies, not literally, but still a lot of puppies” at the shelter so he would be a little later than he was expecting. It was disappointing, for sure, but you still admire his devotion.

The night drags on, and somehow watching a fifteen year old tell a baby how to spot weld a crack on a surgical knife was getting a little boring. Checking the clock on the wall (and Amanda said there was no reason to move a wall clock!), you notice it was way past your reservation. You sigh, and pull out your phone to text Damien to call off date night.

After a few minutes, those cursed three dot reply thingies appear in place of a message, and stay there through 2 commercial breaks.

The message did eventually send, but by the time your phone buzzed, so did your doorbell. You jumped up to get it, slamming your knee on the coffee table in the process. Muttering muddled curses under your breath, you limp to the door, opening it to a semi-frazzled Damien. His glasses are askew, only a few strands of hair still clinging to his pony tail, and his clothes are the dirtiest you’d ever seen them.

You’re hesitant to hug him, eying some of the more suspiciously poop-colored stains on his shirt and pants, but greet him with a warm, only slightly awkward, handshake. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I had no idea how quickly the time was going by.”

You shrugged a little, “It’s fine, I honestly didn’t care about the dinner anyways.” You sniff the air, “God you need to take a shower though, those puppies did a number on you.”

“Specifically a number 2,” he laughs. “Mind if I use your shampoo?”

“Not at all, it doesn’t smell as good as your’s though.”

“It smells better than a hoard of small furry poop-machines,” he says over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs to the bathroom. You make a mental note to call Amanda and ask her if she knew of a store that carried the sweet-smelling ichor Damien washed his hair with, because you’re pretty sure the Sir Saves-a-Lot down the street didn’t. You’re also sick of him leaving you with three drops of shampoo at the bottom of the bottle when he stayed over. Curse those lovely locks of his.

The shower takes a while, but you can’t help but perk up when you hear the blow dryer turn off. He comes back down dressed to the nines in a dark blue suit. Thank god you kept that wardrobe box, it’s stuffed to the brim with Damien’s clothes now where your closet has failed.  
You suddenly feel very underdressed in your graphic tee, Amanda got it for you for your birthday, but he plops down on the couch next to you regardless.

“Uh, dinners a bust,” you confess. “We’re like, three hours late for our reservation.”

He shrugs, and draws his legs up to sit cross legged. “I didn’t really care about dinner, I just wanted to spend some time with you, doesn’t really matter where that happens.” He takes your hand in his, drawing small circles with his thumb. Even though you’re starting to feel a bit peckish, the idea of getting up and disturbing your boyfriend is not a good one. He’s started to lean over onto your shoulder, almost like he’s going to sleep.

You lean over a little bit and give him a small kiss on the check, now that he doesn’t smell like the shelter. He smiles, and returns the kiss. You, for one, refuse to be on-upped, so you kiss him again.

He giggles, and unfolds himself to slide onto your lap. He presses your foreheads together, giving you two the chance to just breath. He re-applied his cologne, you notice, he must have some hidden under your sink. It’s not overpowering, but noticeable enough when you lean up to kiss the side of his neck. He sighs and relaxes against your touch.

“Are we doing this?” You ask quietly, your hands cautiously resting on his hips.

He nods, diving into a kiss, cupping your face with his hands. You kiss back with fervor, wrapping your arms around him. You’re both content making out like you’re twenty years younger than you actually are for a minute, but then Damien leans back and slides his hands under the hem of your shirt. His hands roam the soft plane of your stomach, and you shiver.

This gives him the chance to make a move. He gently pulls the shirt off over your head, and puts it to the side. “Let’s make this fair,” you mutter, helping him shrug off his suit coat.

You had made several jokes about Damien’s vampiric appearance in the past, but the love bites he leaves down your neck are no laughing matter. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’d have broken skin. As he starts to suck a hickey into the skin connecting your neck to your shoulder, you have to fight back an embarrassingly loud moan.

You fumble with the buttons of his waist coat, worried you’ll rip the thin silk threads holding them in place. Damien notices this, and undoes the buttons himself, much to your dismay. Your mood brightens quick a bit when he sets it aside to continue kissing your neck. You roll your hips experimentally, smiling when you hear Damien suck in a breath.

He detaches from your neck quickly enough when you snake a hand between the two of you, rubbing at him through his pants. “Do you want to move to the bedroom?” he asks quietly, eyes wide through glasses.

After you nod, and he climbs off you, and falls backwards as he slams the back of his knees into the coffee table. You do your best to contain your laughter, but do an awful job. Soon enough, you’re both giggly, half-dressed messes, Damien laying on your coffee table and you above him.  
It strikes you for a second just how much you like him, and how glad you are to have this man, dressed like he stepped out of a Victorian time machine, giggling on your living room table.

“I think,” he manages between breathes, “you’re going to have to carry me up.”

You give him your best three finger salute, and try to pick him up bridal style. You get about three steps out of the living room and have to stop for a breather. He hasn’t stopped laughing, and quite frankly, it’s harder to manage a giggly full-grown man and a still one. “Okay, this is not going to happen without me dropping you down the stairs,” you confess. “You’re going to have to go on without me.”

“Ah, whatever shall your blushing bride do!? For my constitution is simply too fragile for me do such a dangerous task on my own!” He puts on airs on a level you haven’t seen since before you started dating. You both break down into fits of laughter again.

Finally your snickers become more heavy breathing as you struggle to regain the oxygen you lost in your laugh-fest, and you both go upstairs, Damien glancing over his shoulder every few steps, as if to make sure you’re still following him.

He pushes open your bedroom door, and sets himself down on your (admittedly ragged) duvet cover. You curse yourself for not making your bed, but nestle yourself between his knees regardless. He throws his arms up around to pull you down into a bruising kiss.

At this point, you lose your balance and crash down on top of him, knocking your foreheads together. You hadn’t expected sex tonight to be so injury prone, but you both push on.

His hands travel up to play with the back of your binder, slowly rolling his hips against your’s. You break off your kisses to sit up and grab Damien by the hips, pulling him up so his back is resting against the headboard, before leaning down to lay kisses across his chest as you meticulously unbutton his dress shirt. Somehow this was easier than unbuttoning his vest, and you lay it down on the bedside table, hoping it won’t wrinkle.

He leans up slightly, reaching for the clasps holding his binder in place, unceremoniously tossing it off the side of the bed. After taking a second to breathe deeply, he does the same for you. “We cannot mix those up in the morning,” you comment, before leaning down to kiss down the center line of his chest to his stomach.

Cupping the back of your head and sighing, he nods. He’s very lean, it surprises you every time, you can feel hard muscle almost directly under his skin as you kiss down to the hem of his pants. You start to undo the buttons, but his hand meats your’s. “You first,” he suggests. “You’ve shown me such a good evening, I’d like to return the favor.”

You nod, a little breathless, as you roll onto your side, and Damien situates himself between your legs. His delft fingers undo the zipper of your jeans quickly, unceremoniously pulling them down. You make eye contact as he leans down, kissing the top line of your boxers before he begins to suck on the crotch of them. You thank your lucky stars you didn’t bother with a packer, because the sensation of Damien’s mouth against you, coupled with the wet fabric, is heavenly.

Tossing your head back against the pillows, you breath out a heavy sigh. Damien’s fingers toy with the hem of your underwear, playing with the idea of taking them off you, but never quite committing. You squirm when he pets up your thigh, twisting his fingers against the downy soft hair leading up to your crotch.

“Shoosh, shoosh,” he chides, “Just relax, we’re barely getting started.” He dives back in right away, with a renewed fervor. He finally pushes your underwear down, effectively trapping your legs. When he lays a long lick along you, ending with a skilled suck on your clit, you keen, head tossed back against the pillows. 

You look down at him, to see him looking back up at you, and the hint of a smile hidden between your legs. He stares at you intently, emphasizing this with a solid lick along your entire length. You sigh deeply, looking down at him and seeing the line of spit running from his mouth to you. The image itself was enough to make the heat in your lower belly flare.

He heads back in, pressing careful fingers into you, while his mouth is still on you. He twists his wrist in such a way, and you feel like you could come right then. When you vocalize this, he just laughs, and the vibrations feel like the travel all the way to your spine.

Even though you’re just getting started, you feel yourself start to come undone, legs shaking slightly as you gently move your hips against Damien. He notices how desperate you seem to get, and redoubles his effects, to the point where you can feel him slip an extra finger in and you buck against his face.

His glasses knock against his forehead, and he takes a clean hand to put the onto the bed beside you. You pray desperately that you’ll remember they’re there, and you won’t roll over onto them. Though, this is more than your barely-pre-orgasm brain can manage, and you forget this when Damien uses that same clean hand to hold your hips down with a bruising amount of strength.

The pressure is enough to set you off. Your hand flies over your mouth to stifle the embarrassingly loud sound you make as you come.

You sink bonelessly into the mattress, but Damien doesn’t let up. If anything, he ramps up his efforts, trying to milk another orgasm out of you while you’re still over-sensitive. You don’t protest at all, wrapping your legs around him, digging your heels into the small of his back as you feel yourself rapidly tumbling towards your second release.

You give up trying to be quiet, openly moaning and sighing as you reach down to grab a handful of Damien’s hair, if only to keep you anchored. Your second hand quickly joins his, frantically pawing at your clit. You come seconds with both of you trying so hard to get you off.

 

Damien sits up, petting at your thighs, and drinking in the sight of you. You know you much look completely debauched, chest heaving and covered in hickies and bites, but you can’t help but blush at the way he looks you up and down, like how he admires a piece he’s proud of.

After several seconds of heavy silence, you sit up to meet him, draping your still-jelly arms around his shoulders. He gives you a few gentle kisses, and you can taste yourself on his lips. Desperate to return the favor, you end up flipping him around, so he was lying with his back against the headboard.

You set to with marking him up similarly to how he marked you. The bites show up so quickly on his pale skin, you leave a trail of red marks leading down his chest. You remember how sensitive his chest is, and detour on your trip to his pants to leave a few kisses around his nipple.

He squeaks, rather undignified, but reaches down to twist his fingers through your hair, reflexively tightening his grip when you bite down, rolling the nipple between your teeth. His breath comes in heavy pants, and you feel his stomach tighten beneath you.

“Is this okay?” you ask, pulling off him. You notice your voice slur slightly, be it with pleasure or tiredness, you’re not sure.

“Lord, it’s more than okay,” he replies, in a voice that seems like he’s almost forgotten how to talk.

You only give his chest attention for a few more minutes, during with Damien is a panting mess, before you continue kissing down his stomach. You press a hand to the outside of his pants, and hips roll up to try and gain some much-needed relief.

You’re more than happy to give it to him, undoing his fiendishly complicated pants, and respectably putting them to the side. Rubbing him through his underwear, you can feel him fighting against his hips jerking up to meet your hand.

His legs are shaking, and his breath is coming quickly and in shallow pants. The way he looks up with you, with his eyes glazed over with pleasure and hair flung out behind his head, is too much. You lean up to trap his lips in a bruising kiss.

It’s hard with your sluggish fingers, but you pull his underwear off and tease at his entrance. Every finger twitch you can hear his breath hitch, and you do the best to capture every small noise with your lips. You set a leisurely pace, but before long he’s gasping for air and clinging onto your back. You can feel the way his finger nails bite into your skin, but you are long beyond caring. If anything, it spurs you on.

He goes still when he comes, and asks you to stop before you try and get a second orgasm out of him. He rolls over, patting down the comforter for his glasses before either one of you swash them. You had done it before and the 11:30 walk of shame to Damien’s house to find his spare pair was not an experience worth repeating.

“Want me to get you a towel or anything?” You ask, starting to sit up.

He shakes his head in response. “I’d just like you to stay with me for a little while, that’s all.”  
It doesn’t take long for the pair of you to fall asleep. Even though you have a pair of Damien’s period accurate PJ’s living in the bottom of your sock drawer, neither of you want to leave bed to find them.

You wake up bright and early to the smell of sausage sizzling away downstairs, and all of Damien’s clothes folded and in the hamper.


End file.
